


Legacy

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Collaborations [77]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Time Travel Bullshit from the mosaic, we actually wrote smut for the first time in (non)fucking forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22202434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: "Oh," Eliot says, very eloquently. He's still holding a smoking gun, Julia at his elbow, Quentin and Ora staring between the two of them with twin expressions that are equal parts bewildered and horrified. Eliot can't take his gaze off the floor, where the Monster's discarded corpse once lay. "Shit," he continues.Right on cue, the baby throws back its head and wails.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Collaborations [77]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/41362
Comments: 9
Kudos: 226





	Legacy

"Oh," Eliot says, very eloquently. He's still holding a smoking gun, Julia at his elbow, Quentin and Ora staring between the two of them with twin expressions that are equal parts bewildered and horrified. Eliot can't take his gaze off the floor, where the Monster's discarded corpse once lay. "Shit," he continues.

Right on cue, the baby throws back its head and wails.

Ora is still frozen, but Quentin moves on instinct, scooping the baby up and swiping the Monster's shirt from the floor to wrap the naked, squalling infant up in. "What the _fuck,_ " he says, still bewildered, looking back at Eliot and Julia. "You were trying to _kill_ him?"

"You knew he was unkillable!" Ora cries, darting forward to hover anxiously by Quentin's side - but when she reaches for her charge, the Monster's screaming intensifies, and he practically throws himself out of Quentin's arms, forcing Quentin to swear and scramble to keep a hold on him. Ora's expression becomes conflicted, and she turns her attention to Julia and Eliot as Quentin does his best trying to soothe the crying Monster. "Why would you still try to kill him?"

"We thought a power boost might..." Julia trails off, expression turning guilty when she catches a glimpse of the large, rapidly-fading bruise on the Monster's chest as Quentin adjusts the improvised swaddling cloth. "Obviously we were wrong."

Eliot rounds on Julia. "I was trying to kill it," he says. "Are you telling me you didn't mean for this to happen?"

Julia's eyes flash, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "Of course I didn’t mean for this to happen; I was trying to help you kill it! I didn't want Q to stay here anymore than you did - "

" _Hey!_ " Quentin snaps. "We can sort this out _later,_ because we still have to save _all of magic,_ remember? Eliot, put that fucking gun away or I swear I'm gonna wallop your stupid ass with it. Julia, keep an eye out for any other dangers, since you're the only one here who has any magic besides the _crying baby_ you and Eliot made."

Eliot pulls a face at him, but pockets the gun.

* * *

It's a good thing that Julia is on the lookout, because as soon as they step into the part of Castle Blackspire holding the Fountain, they're accosted by two people from the Library and Dean Fogg. Their magic is no match for a goddess's, even a fledgling one's, however, and before the three of them can register the fact that someone in their group has magic, they're unconscious on the floor. Julia quickly frees the rest of the group that had come to Blackspire, magically bound out of the way, and they use the keys to unlock the Fountain and return magic to all the realms. Julia crafts a ward for the Fountain, and, when she volunteers, swears Ora in as the Fountain's guardian. The Monster eventually quiets to a sniffling mess, and Quentin uses the corner of his repurposed shirt to clean his face off as best he can as Eliot and Julia explain why Quentin has a baby.

"I'm not dealing with this here," Margo decides eventually. "Penny, take us back to Whitespire, will you?"

Returning to Whitespire is a production in and of itself, but eventually they're all gathered in the throne room, Fen and Margo on their thrones, and Quentin very obviously avoiding Eliot as he bounces the Monster gently in his arms. "Is it... still the Monster?" Fen asks doubtfully. 

"Is there a way to tell?" Kady wonders. "Like, was it crying because Eliot tried to kill it and now it can't return the favor?"

Julia approaches cautiously. "I think I could run a diagnostic spell," she offers.

"Would it hurt him?" Margo asks. The others look at her, and she raises her hands. "Hey, if it's still the Monster in there, I don't give two flying shits if it causes mind-numbing pain. But if it's a baby..."

"No," Julia says, with a small smile. "It won't hurt. Q?"

Quentin hesitates for a moment before stepping closer to Julia. The Monster watches her with wide, wet eyes, lower lip trembling. His breath hitches when Julia reaches for him, and Quentin's arms tighten reflexively. "I think he'll start crying again if you take him," he says. "Can you do it while I hold him?"

"Sure," Julia says. "Hi, sweetie, this won't take a second." She raises her hands, focuses for a moment, and a haze of red and gold mist passes over the baby. Luckily, he doesn't seem to even notice.

"Well?" Margo asks, impatient.

Julia ignores her until the mist has faded, and steps back with a sigh. "Well, it's a little more complicated than we thought. First, that's still the body the Monster was using to begin with, just... regressed? But it's definitely still the Monster in there."

"But is it the Monster we knew?" Kady presses. 

"Is it baby Voldemort?" Josh asks, concerned. 

"Not exactly," Julia says. "It... He? Is powerful. Incredibly magical. But as far as I can tell, the conscious is about five months old. The Monster must have regressed with the body."

For the first time since right after he fired the gun, Eliot speaks. "The body it was using when I shot it," he says, his voice a little shaky. "Did I... kill that person instead?"

Julia turns to smile at him. "No," she says. "That person was dead long before we got there."

Margo nods. "Do you still want to kill the Monster, Eliot?" she asks, back straight and her posture every inch that of a High King. 

Eliot screws up his face in disgust. "What kind of a question is that?"

Margo raises an eyebrow. "You shot it in the first place," she points out. 

"Because Quentin was about to sign himself up for an eternity of torture at that thing's hands," Eliot snaps. "It's a fucking baby, Bambi."

"Yeah, and what are we going to do with it now?" Penny interjects. "Two of us are fucking monarchs, Kady and I have work on Earth to do with the hedge witches, Julia's a goddamn - well, goddess, and Alice is taking over the Library after double crossing the Librarians today. That just leaves Josh, Quentin, and Eliot."

"Whoa, I'm not taking a baby, certainly not one that's the equivalent of a magical nuke," Josh protests. 

Eliot rolls his eyes. "If we're sure it isn't an actual ticking time bomb--" he says.

"Which he definitely isn't," Julia interjects hastily. "He's just a normal baby with a few magical powers."

"--then Q and I can handle it."

Quentin looks at Eliot sharply. "You're sure? I mean - I was going to volunteer anyway, but..."

Eliot looks resigned, but he nods. "I'm sure," he says. "We'll be fine. A cute bonding exercise while we work out what to do with him long-term."

Quentin hesitates, but then nods. "Alright. I don't think we should take him back to Earth, though."

"Definitely not," Eliot agrees. "If he can't control his magic he could hurt someone or himself." He glances at Quentin. "But maybe we could make use of some supplies from Earth?" He leaves the _this time_ unsaid.

"Definitely," Quentin agrees, bouncing the Monster a little when he starts to fuss. 

"What're you gonna do, go raise him in the woods like Sleeping Beauty?" Josh asks, clearly doubtful. "I mean, that would probably be safest, but... not exactly the healthiest."

"Of course not," Eliot says. "But we can't keep it forever. We should probably have some kind of endgame in mind here."

"From what I can tell, he isn't going to change back anytime soon," Julia says. "If you guys can look after him for a while, I can try to find the gods that created him, see what they suggest?"

"An Old God _would_ be better-equipped to handle him," Margo muses. 

Quentin gives Julia a small smile. "I think that's a great idea."

"Right," Eliot says. "So we need somewhere to stay, probably not in Whitespire but not somewhere so far away that no one will notice if it somehow explodes and kills us both, and we're going to need supplies. Diapers and formula and onesies and wet wipes, oh God, please let there be wet wipes."

Quentin bites his lip for a moment before offering, "There's a small cottage not far outside of the city. I... stumbled across it while exploring a few weeks back. It's in decent shape."

"Perfect," Margo says. "Penny and Kady can Travel back to Earth to get you the shit you need, and you can get all set up there while I go back to running my country with Fen."

Tension seems to leak out of the room when Penny and Kady nod, and even Quentin feels the line of his shoulders relax. "Okay," he says, glancing at Eliot. "I guess... if we need anything else we don't think of before we leave, we can send a letter or a rabbit?"

"I'll give you a list," Eliot tells Penny very seriously. "And if you skimp on the wet wipes, I will skin you alive."

Penny raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment, and it's not long before their group disperses, everyone practically radiating exhaustion from the long weeks of Questing. 

* * *

Quentin takes the Monster back to his room to start packing, making a detour along the way to the kitchen for some food for the both of them. It takes some coaxing, but eventually the Monster eats some mashed peas, face screwed up the whole time. It gets something in his stomach while they wait for Penny to get Eliot's list and go to Earth, but the sooner they can get him some formula, the better Quentin will feel. 

Quentin gets distracted by packing up all of the things he wants to bring from the castle and loses track of time. When there's a knock on the door, he startles, which startles the Monster, who had started crying every time Quentin tried to set him down in a nest of pillows and blankets, and thus is still tucked into Quentin's arms. 

He hasn't made a lot of progress packing. 

Still, when the knock startles the both of them, Quentin manages to calm the Monster before he can do much more than whimper. He turns his attention back to his bookcases, calling over his shoulder, "Come in."

Eliot lets himself into the room, and it's a good thing Quentin has his back to him, because he's sure something in his eyes goes all warm and gooey at the sight of Quentin with a baby in his arms. He drags himself back under control, and clears his throat. "Hey," he says. "Thought I'd come and see if you needed any help."

Quentin groans. "Yes, please. He won't let me put him down, and I don't want to risk a tantrum in the middle of the castle. I haven't gotten like, any clothes packed."

Eliot smiles. "Okay," he says. "Point out what you want, and I'll pull it all together."

Quentin resettles the Monster more comfortably in his arms, and does so. The two of them work for several long minutes without any further conversation, but eventually Quentin can't keep the question inside any longer. "Why did you try to kill the Monster, Eliot?"

Eliot looks at him askance. "Do you really need to ask me that?" he asks.

"Yes, actually, I do," Quentin says, glancing down at the Monster in his arms, watching him back with wide eyes. "We all had a part in this Quest, Eliot. Staying with the Monster was mine."

"No," Eliot says, "it wasn't. We could have found another way."

"When, Eliot?" Quentin asks, exasperated. "There wasn't time! I mean, for fuck's sake, the only reason we knew to ask Julia to come with us was because Alice had a crisis of conscience!"

"Quentin," Eliot snaps, "I know you signed up to be that thing's keeper for the rest of forever out of the goodness of your own heart, but if any one of us had decided to do that instead, would you have stood for it? No. Why? Because friends don't let friends kill themselves."

"I would've tried a better plan than shooting an unkillable thing!" Quentin retorts. The Monster whimpers in his arms, face screwing up, and Quentin swears quietly, shifting his attention to trying to calm him down. 

Eliot steps forward. "Why don't you give him to me?"

"I don't think - " Quentin barely gets the words out before the Monster whines, high and sharp - and his eyes flash a burning gold, and Eliot is hit with a wave of force. 

Eliot staggers back, and barely manages to stay on his feet. "Fuck," he says, "all right, you little shit, I get the message."

Quentin finishes settling the Monster, who subsides to regular fussing, before he looks up at Eliot with a vaguely apologetic expression. "Sorry, guess he just... imprinted on me?"

"You’re the mama duck," Eliot says. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. My point was, I panicked. I couldn't let you go through with it, but I didn't have a lot of options. Literal god-killing bullet seemed like the best of a bad bunch."

Quentin sighs. "It's done now," he says. "And we need to finish packing before heading out to the cottage."

"Where exactly is it we're going?" Eliot asks.

Quentin hesitates. "It's... actually our cottage. The mosaic is gone, and the village is a little bigger, but. It's still pretty isolated and it's close to the castle."

Eliot blinks. "Our cottage?" he repeats. "It's still there?"

"Yeah," Quentin says, smiling. "It's still there. Still in pretty good shape, too; nothing some minor mending and repair can't fix."

"Wow," Eliot says. "Are you... sure?"

Quentin takes a deep breath. "I'm sure," he says, glancing back at Eliot, expression unreadable. 

Eliot searches his face for a long moment, but then he nods. "All right," he says. "What else do you need?"

* * *

"Wow," Eliot breathes as he sets their bags down just inside the front door and looks around. Quentin had to carry the Monster the whole way from Whitespire, but luckily with magic back Eliot was able to shrink most of their belongings. "It really hasn't changed at all."

"No, it hasn't," Quentin agrees, bouncing the Monster a little as he walks over the threshold. "Kinda glad, though. Least we know this set up works with a baby."

"Well," Eliot sighs, watching Quentin walk further into the room. "Let's hope the extension is still standing, too."

"It is," Quentin says absently, poking through the cupboards. Penny must have already been by, because they're fully stocked. "Hope he remembered the wet wipes. And that he didn't just get the stupidly cheap ones. I'd hate to see how the Monster behaves with a chafed ass."

"I'll even take the cheap ones," Eliot says. He finally picks the bags up again and starts looking around. "We didn't have any the first time around." The words catch in his throat on the way out, and he finds himself unable to look at Quentin. "I'll just drop your shit in the main bedroom, okay? I'll take the extension."

Quentin looks up at that, frowning. "What - " He blinks, flushing, as he seems to remember their situation. "Oh. Right, yeah. Okay. Um - I'll see about getting the Monster changed in a minute, get him into some actual clothes, and not this old cloth."

Eliot smiles. "Good plan. Once we're all settled in I'll get dinner started."

* * *

So that's what they do. Eliot unpacks their things into their respective bedrooms while Quentin organises the baby things Penny dropped off, and then Quentin gives the Monster a bath and finds him some clothes while Eliot cooks dinner. It's a simple campfire stew, something he cobbled together plenty of times in the lifetime that never was and still comes as naturally to him as breathing. He hopes Quentin appreciates it as much as he seems to be appreciating bathing the infant, if the sounds of splashing and laughter coming from the bedroom are any indication.

Dinner's just about ready when the bedroom door opens; Eliot turns to tell Quentin as much, and barely keeps himself from melting into a puddle on the spot. "Is that a penguin onesie?" he laughs. "Did we lose a few months to the time difference again? Where did Penny find that thing?"

”I have no idea,” Quentin admits, though he’s grinning as he hoists the Monster in his arms; the Monster’s dark blonde curls are plastered wetly to his head, and he’s got practically one whole fist stuffed into his mouth as he looks around with wide eyes. “But he’s settled down now that he’s had a bath. I’m gonna heat up some formula, see if we can head off some hungry crying.”

"He's probably ready for bed, after," Eliot adds. "It's been a long day."

"A _very_ long day," Quentin agrees, moving towards the cupboard he'd spotted the formula and bottles in before. It's a bit trickier making the formula one-handed than he'd anticipated, but he manages it, and even manages a one-handed warming spell to heat it to the right temperature. "Alright," he mutters, taking both Monster and bottle to the closest chair, "let's see how this goes. If you don't like the taste, you're just gonna have to deal."

The Monster fusses for all of a minute before he latches on, and then his eyes slip closed and he starts to drink. Eliot turns back to the stove before Quentin can see the soft smile on his face, and spells the heat beneath the stew nice and low. "How long do you think it'll take Julia to track down the Old Gods?" he asks mildly, his back still turned. "Long enough that we'll need to transfigure the armchair into a rocking chair again?"

Quentin groans. "Probably," he sighs, tilting the bottle to a better angle. "Little shit probably won't sleep without it."

Eliot finally turns around and rolls his sleeves up. "All right," he says. "Let's see if I can remember the spell."

Quentin lets himself stare at Eliot's arms and hands as he casts, adjusting the Monster and his bottle on instinct. He's always loved watching Eliot's hands, no matter what they were doing, though it’s been more of a guilty pleasure lately, watching him. But once the chair is fully transfigured and Eliot starts to turn around, Quentin hastily diverts his gaze to the Monster in his arms, bottle almost gone. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?" he murmurs, and almost immediately has to brace himself against an overwhelming sense of deja vu when the Monster blinks up at him, mouth still latched around the nipple of the bottle, tiny fists opening and closing as he suckles. 

"Don't get too attached," Eliot warns. "We're going to have to give it back sooner rather than later."

Quentin stills, taking in a deep breath through his nose. "You're right," he says, glancing up at Eliot, though he can only hold Eliot's gaze for a moment before it drops again down to where the Monster has finished the bottle and has spit out the nipple. "You're right, obviously. But we can't just - We can't just pretend this is a stupid home economics assignment with the dolls or sacks of flour. He's alive."

"And he's not our problem," Eliot continues. "You're not giving up your life for this thing, no matter what it looks like."

Quentin glances up, frowns - but he doesn't say anything else. 

* * *

The cottage is quiet that evening. Quentin puts the Monster down when he finally drifts off, settling him into the crib in the main bedroom. He leaves the door cracked when he leaves, and dinner is an oddly stilted affair with both of them avoiding each other's gaze - though more than once Quentin catches Eliot looking away from him abruptly. 

They busy themselves tidying up around the cottage, repairing the few things that need to be repaired, and generally wasting time until it's an acceptable time to go to bed. Quentin gives in first, claiming that he's sure the Monster will wake him up at some point, so he should probably go to sleep now. Eliot doesn't protest, and Quentin disappears into the bedroom. 

He has to fend off another wave of deja vu, getting ready for bed with a sleeping baby nearby. More than once, Quentin hears Eliot moving in the other room and half-expects him to - 

_He never did that,_ Quentin reminds himself. _We never did any of that._ Time travel makes his head hurt, and Quentin honestly tries not to think too much about that lifetime that wasn't. 

Sleep comes surprisingly easily - though it doesn't stay long. Sure enough, the Monster wakes more than once, but the third time Quentin picks him up, he continues fussing even after Quentin changes his diaper. Sighing, Quentin conjures a small orb, just enough to keep him from stubbing his toes as he takes the Monster back to the main area of the cottage, absently soothing him as he fixes another bottle of formula. Quentin is running on autopilot as he turns, humming quietly under his breath, and makes his way to the rocking chair Eliot had transfigured earlier, settling in and summoning a blanket from his room to tuck around the both of them. He starts rocking, keeps humming, and when the Monster finishes eating, he directs the bottle back to the basin before he grabs a spare cloth. 

Once the Monster is finally taken care of, he settles quickly, watching Quentin with wide eyes as Quentin continues humming and rocking, until the Monster slowly drifts back off to sleep. Quentin doesn't even notice when he follows. 

* * *

It throws Eliot for a loop, when he finds them. For a heartbeat he's back at the mosaic, and he fully expects to see Arielle coming out of the bedroom to share a conspiratorial smile with him before they both try to make breakfast without waking either of them. But the picture they make together, while lovely, is more than a little off. Quentin's face, always young in sleep, is untouched by the years of laughter and manual labour it took for them to reach this point back then; the baby is just a little too pudgy, his hair too light, for Eliot to ever mistake him for their son. Eliot shakes his head to clear it, forces himself to take a step back and think other thoughts. This baby isn't theirs, can't ever be theirs, and Quentin... Eliot blew his chance with him a long time ago, and then scorched the earth where that chance once stood when he shot the Monster. He needs to pull himself together.

Still, Eliot tries not to wake them while he makes breakfast, and is gratified that Quentin only begins to wake once the smell of bacon has truly pervaded the entire cottage. "Good morning," he says, making a conscious effort to keep the warmth feels at the sight of Quentin's sweet, sleepy face out of his voice. "Rough night? You should have woken me."

Quentin rubs at his eyes, jaw cracking around a yawn. "Not too bad. Woke up a couple times, needed to be changed and fed... Told you he wouldn't sleep without the rocker, though."

Eliot gives him a tight smile. "Happy to oblige," he says. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Yes, please," Quentin says, giving Eliot a slight smile. "I don't think I should move yet, not while he's sleeping, so I'm afraid I can't really help with anything."

"You'll have to move if you want to eat," Eliot points out.

"I'll have to move to go to the bathroom," Quentin says with a quiet chuckle. "But I've got a few more minutes, right? Let him sleep as long as he can; less time for him to find something to cry about."

"Well, don't hold your breath," Eliot says, watching the Monster's little hand twitch against Quentin's chest, his nose scrunch up in discomfort. "He's waking up."

Quentin sighs. "Of course he is." He carefully shifts, getting his arms more securely around the Monster as he whines. "He probably needs to be changed again. And fed."

"Well, he won't let me anywhere near him," Eliot chuckles. "You want to do the honours while I dish up?"

Quentin makes a face at the Monster, smiling when it makes him pause before his expression twitches into a clumsy imitation. "Yeah, sure. I'll be right back."

Eliot watches him carry the Monster from the room, and winces when it finally starts to cry as the door shuts behind them. He closes his eyes. _Please, Julia,_ he thinks desperately, _hurry._

* * *

Whatever the penguin onesie might suggest about Earth, it's summer in Fillory. By midday the cottage is as stifling as Eliot remembers it, and they've taken to retreating outside, lounging on transfigured garden chairs and sipping magically-maintained frozen cocktails for most of their afternoons. They don't get drunk - they can't take that risk, even without factoring the Monster into things - but they manage to get to a point where they feel less awkward around each other. At peak tipsiness, Eliot might even go so far as to say the atmosphere between them is pleasant.

Still, it takes him three days to say what's been on his mind this whole time. "The mosaic's gone."

Quentin nods, looking out over the clearing that looks... completely normal. There's no trace of the mosaic, no tiles or frame. "It was like this the first time I saw it again," he offers. "I guess... Once it was solved, it wasn't needed anymore."

"That makes sense," Eliot allows. He takes a breath. "What was it, in the end? The beauty of all life?"

"A life well-lived," Quentin says. He takes a deep breath, holding it for a moment before he speaks again. "I, um. It turns out that the - the mosaic was missing a tile."

Eliot blinks. "What?"

"I found it when I buried you," Quentin confesses, unable to look at Eliot and instead keeping his gaze on the Monster in his arms. "It was gold, and. When I put it in the center of the frame, it turned into the key."

"Shit," Eliot says. He sits back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the empty patch of grass where the mosaic once lay, and says it again. "Shit."

"Yeah," Quentin agrees. "Jane walked out of the woods almost immediately after that, I gave her the key, and then I set up the time traveling rabbit for Margo telling her where to find the key. I sent another one to Teddy, letting him know what happened, but... I don't remember him coming. I don't - I don't remember anything after I went to go lie down."

That snaps Eliot out of his stupor, and he sits forward. "Quentin," he says, "did you _die_ right after that?"

Quentin bites his lip, finally glances up at Eliot. "I-I think so."

"Shit," Eliot says again. "Q, that's very fucking dramatic."

Quentin laughs, bouncing the Monster a little when he frowns at the sudden noise. "Yeah, I know. But I don't remember anything except being really damn tired after burying you and working that magic to get the letter to Margo in time."

Eliot makes a movement like he wants to reach out, but decides against it. "Well," he says. "Fucking shit."

Quentin laughs, looking back up at Eliot. "Is that all you can say?"

"Pretty much," Eliot says, but he's smiling. "What else is there to say?"

* * *

Quentin mutters a curse under his breath, glaring at the still-full basin in the kitchen. “Eliot!” he calls over his shoulder, rocking the Monster. “Did you not wash the bottles? None of them are clean!”

"Not yet," Eliot says, emerging from his bedroom. "Don't we still have another one?"

"No, I told you this morning I was using the last one." Quentin sighs. "Let me see if I can do the cleaning spell one-handed, he's got a death grip on my shirt."

"Don't be ridiculous," Eliot snaps, coming over. "I'll do it. Fucking hell."

"And you couldn't do it earlier today?" Quentin asks, stepping away from the basin and watching Eliot with a raised eyebrow. 

"Clearly not, Q, Jesus." Eliot's tuts are sharp and jerky with frustration, but they get the job done. "What's your problem?"

"I told you last night that we were almost out of clean bottles," Quentin points out, grabbing one of the newly clean ones and starting to make the Monster's formula. 

"Well it's done now, isn't it? So what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that this should've been taken care of last night," Quentin says without looking at Eliot. "What if next time you're at the village, or visiting Margo?"

"Have I left this fucking cottage since we got here?" Eliot demands.

"No, but we aren’t a pair of fucking hermits, Eliot." Quentin hears the bottle, testing it to make sure it's not too hot before he gives it to the Monster. "We're going to have to start being sociable sometime before cabin fever makes us kill each other."

"Then maybe that should be right now," Eliot snarls. "I'm going out."

"Fine," Quentin snaps, glaring. 

Eliot doesn't bother grabbing a jacket, he just storms right out of the cottage - and doesn't even stop when a strong _whoosh_ of magic makes the door swing shut hard enough to actually hit him as he crosses the threshold.

* * *

Eliot stays away for most of the day. Quentin busies himself taking care of the Monster after his epic tantrum - his discipline comes in handy more than a few times - and just taking care of things around the cottage. He makes a new addition to the list of things to ask Penny to bring back from Earth, finally deciding that they need a baby chest carrier sooner rather than later. Turns out the Monster that required constant attention as an adult needed just as much attention as a baby, who knew?

Still, with the help of magic, Quentin manages to have a simple dinner cooking on the stove by the time Eliot finally returns. He's feeding the Monster again, after having just given him a bath, and looks up long enough to give Eliot a short nod. "Dinner's almost ready," he offers. 

Eliot winces. "Thank you," he says, already moving toward the stove. "I'll take over from here."

Quentin doesn't say anything for a long moment, gaze focused on the baby in his arms. When he finally speaks, he does it without looking up. "So, where'd you go today?"

"Just for a walk," Eliot says. "The village is closer now than it used to be, it's spread out a bit. It's nice."

Quentin hums idly. "Yeah, it's good to see that they did well since we left."

"You should go," Eliot says. "The kid could probably do with some fresh air."

Quentin snorts a laugh, shushing the Monster when it startles him. "Maybe when he's not using his magic to slam doors on people when I'm pissed at them."

Eliot startles. "That was him?"

Quentin glances up, gives Eliot a small, uncertain smile. "Yeah, that was him."

"Wow," Eliot says. "I don't know if I should be impressed or scared."

"You could do what I'm doing and be a little of both?" Quentin suggests, chuckling. "It's kind of... I mean, it _is_ impressive and scary, how powerful he is. And he put together that I was pissed at you."

Eliot winces. "I am sorry about that," he says. "I should have done those dishes yesterday when you asked."

Quentin sighs. "I appreciate that. I shouldn't have snapped at you over something so small, though."

Eliot shrugs. "You're looking after the Monster pretty much twenty-four/seven," he says. "The least I can do is pick up the slack with the housework."

Quentin chuckles quietly. "He's already started warming up to you a little bit," he says. "Hopefully he'll let you take care of him for a while soon so I can take a nap."

"Unless I ruined all of that today by pissing you off," Eliot says.

"He let you back in the house, didn't he?" Quentin laughs. "I think you're good."

"Jesus," Eliot sighs. "My life is literally in the hands of a five-month-old."

Quentin snorts. "I don't think it’s _that_ dire," he snickers. 

Eliot gives the Monster a sharp look. "Don't let him hear you say that."

* * *

The next week passes without event, but then Eliot gets up one morning to a silent house. He tries not to think too much of it, just gets started on breakfast and decides that if the Monster is finally sleeping through, Quentin deserves a lie in. About ten minutes in, however, the Monster's cries pierce the silence, and then the bedroom door opens. Eliot turns to look at them, and-- "Fuck," he says. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Quentin croaks, absently rubbing a hand over the Monster's back. "I feel like shit. My head's just. Full of cotton."

"All right," Eliot says, striding up to them. "Give him to me. You need to eat, hydrate, and go back to bed."

Quentin looks doubtful. "Think he'll behave?"

"Do you think I give a shit?" Eliot asks.

Quentin rolls his eyes, shifting his hold on the Monster. "Behave for Eliot," he says sternly, like the Monster can actually understand him. 

Eliot reaches out to take him from Quentin's arms. "That's right," he says. "Be good for Eliot, because I'm your only option right now, you little--"

" _Eliot,_ " Quentin says sharply, scowling and shifting back out of Eliot's reach when the Monster's face screws up and his breath hitches. "Be nice. He can pick up on what you're feeling."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "I'll play nice if he does," he says. "I'm more concerned about you right now."

Quentin rolls his eyes, but sighs and shifts closer, letting Eliot take the Monster from his arms. "Just - He's more perceptive than you think."

"Well, he likes you," Eliot says, settling the Monster on his hip, "so let's hope he can _perceive_ that I'm only getting involved to give you a break."

Despite the fact that they aren't related, Quentin and the Monster share almost identical doubtful looks. "Uh huh. I'm going to get some fruit and go back to bed."

"All right," Eliot says. "If you need anything just let me know."

Quentin chuckles at that. " _You_ let me know if you're having too much trouble with him."

* * *

Quentin ends up passing the fuck out once he’s finished his peach and crackers; he doesn’t even get under the covers before he’s asleep again, and barely wakes up a little while later to wriggle under them. He doesn’t hear any sounds of distress from the rest of the cottage, so he lets himself sleep. When Quentin finally wakes up again, his head is still stuffed up, but he feels like he can breathe a little easier, and he feels more awake and alert. Squinting out the window, he sees that it’s almost sunset, and rolls himself out of bed. 

There’s a quiet murmuring from the other side of the door, and Quentin opens the door as carefully as he can, casting a quick silencing tut to keep it from squeaking - and then he practically fucking melts against the door. Eliot has the Monster in his arms, and Quentin bites his lip, stays still and just watches for a long moment, heart aching.

"I know," Eliot is murmuring, cradling the Monster to his chest, "I know. Quentin will be better soon, but we're having a good time, aren't we? We're getting along just fine."

The Monster fusses in Eliot's arms - but Quentin sees how his small hands are fisted in Eliot's shirt, how he settles under Eliot's touch, and has to bite his lip to keep from blurting the first thing on his mind. Instead, he lifts the silencing spell and opens the door the rest of the way, coughs just loud enough to catch their attention. "I see the cottage is still standing."

The Monster coos at the sound of Quentin's voice, and Eliot looks up to give him the softest smile Quentin's seen on him this side of the quest. "Just about," he says. "Are you hungry? We were just thinking about starting dinner."

"I could eat," Quentin says, unable to resist a soft smile of his own. "How'd he behave?"

"Good as gold," Eliot says. "We had a small battle of wills over breakfast, but I think we understand each other now."

Quentin grins. "A battle of wills, huh?"

The Monster waves a chubby fist, and Eliot catches it with a chuckle. "The less said about that, the better."

Quentin laughs, reaching out to pass a hand over the soft, curly hair on the Monster's head. "Well, I can take him while you cook?"

"Sure," Eliot agrees. "Think he's just about done with me, anyway."

Quentin snorts, taking the Monster when he babbles something impatiently and reaches for Quentin. "You _are_ a bit overwhelming in large doses sometimes," he teases. "What else did you two get up to while I was snoring?"

"Not much, actually," Eliot admits, getting to his feet. "We had some lunch, I gave the place a once-over while His Lordship was playing. We even had a nap, didn't we?" He chucks the Monster under the chin and gives him a sweet smile.

The Monster blows a raspberry and giggles, and Quentin can't help grinning. "Well, it’s about time you two started getting along," he says, mock-serious as he bounces the Monster in his arms just to get a laugh. "We've only been here how many weeks?"

"Don't remind me," Eliot says darkly. "Please. I don't want to think about it."

Quentin snorts, idly rocking the Monster. "Alright, fine. What're we having for dinner?"

"Roast pork," Eliot says. "Roasted vegetables. We made some bread today, so we could have that, too."

All three of them are relatively quiet as Eliot throws dinner together, and as they eat, they take turns looking after the Monster. It's only after they finish eating and Eliot is cleaning up their dishes that Quentin finally brings up the thing that's been bothering him for several days now. "Hey, El? Is it just me, or is the sense of deja vu stupidly strong?"

Eliot freezes halfway through his tuts, and the spell he'd been casting to clean the dishes dies. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"I - " Quentin blows out a breath. "I mean that... Well, the addition to the cottage was here when we arrived. The notches in the doorframe are still there, too, the ones we used to track Teddy's height."

It's the first time either of them have said Teddy's name since they got here, and they both feel the impact. Eliot tries to settle his suddenly-shaky hands enough to cast, and takes his time responding. "I guess that means that, somehow, we did live that life. Or some version of us did."

"Somehow or some version," Quentin agrees, his voice shaky. "I think - If the marks are still there... I wonder if our markers are, too."

"Do you really want to find out?" Eliot asks. "Would you even know where to look?"

"I know where Arielle's is," Quentin says, biting his lip.

"Still," Eliot says. "Is that something you want to see?"

Quentin bites his lip, doesn't say anything for a long moment. "Some day. I don't - I don't know if I'm actually ready to see it again. It. I can almost make myself forget sometimes, everything that happened here. Think it was all just a dream."

Eliot nods, and his back is still to Quentin, so he can't see his face. "Maybe it's best to keep it that way."

"Maybe," Quentin says, barely loud enough to be heard - but he doesn't sound entirely convinced. If Eliot lets himself think about it, Quentin might even sound _wistful._

* * *

It's like that conversation tempted fate, because a couple of days later someone trips the wards they'd set up at the edges of their land. Eliot takes a furtive glance out of the window, and sees a young girl who looks so familiar his heart nearly stops. "Uhh," he says, putting a hand out to stop an approaching Quentin, the Monster in his arms. "Maybe you should let me handle this, Q."

Quentin frowns. "What? Why?"

Eliot sighs. "I think one of your granddaughters just walked up."

" _What?_ " Quentin darts around Eliot's hand, makes it all the way to the window, and loses his breath. "What... What the _fuck._ "

"Yeah," Eliot says. "So you just stay here, and I'll deal with it, okay?"

Quentin's head whips around to stare at Eliot, open-mouthed. "What? No! I'm not - No! If that's my - my grandchild, or great-grandchild or whatever, I'm not gonna just _hide_ in here!"

"All right," Eliot says, stepping back from the window. "If you're sure. Do you want me to take him?"

"No," Quentin says, arms tightening just barely around the Monster as he moves towards the door. "I - I need something to ground me. This is. Unexpected."

"I'll come with you," Eliot offers. "But you really don't have to do this."

"She's already spotted us," Quentin points out, which is true. Through the window, they can see a clearly confused and suspicious look on her face, and she's still approaching the cottage. "Come on, let's go."

The girl reaches the edge of where the mosaic used to lie just as they open the door, and she comes to an abrupt halt. "Goodness," she says, her familiar sharp gaze flickering between the two of them. "I didn't realise anyone was living here."

It takes Quentin a moment to find his voice. "We just moved in; there wasn't anyone living here."

"The cottage has been empty for years," the girl says. "Decades. It used to belong to my family."

”Oh,” Quentin says, almost faintly. “Your family?”

"I suppose we still own it," the girl muses. "I don't remember ever being told that we sold it. Which I suppose means that you're trespassing."

"Oh," Eliot says, "we had no intention of trespassing. We just saw the place was clearly... uninhabited, and made the most of it. No offence was meant. It's just that we have a child to think about."

The girl seems to see the Monster for the first time, and she lights up. "Oh, I see. You must be new to town, then."

"Yeah, kind of," Quentin says, laughing. "We needed a place away from... most of civilization, and when I found this place, I thought it would be good. I didn't think to check at the village to see if anyone owned it."

"Well, I'll have to tell my father, but I'm sure they won't mind you being here," the girl says, though a flicker of uncertainty passes over her features. "Oh, where are my manners? My name is Annika."

Quentin offers her a smile. "I'm Quentin, this is Eliot, and this is - " he hesitates for a split second, covers it by shifting the Monster so that he's settled more comfortably. "William."

Quentin needn't have bothered coming up with a name for the Monster, because Eliot's pretty sure Annika didn't hear him at all. "Oh Gods," she breathes. "You're--"

Quentin hesitates, worry crossing his expression. "Is everything alright?"

Annika actually laughs. "I hope so," she says. "You're my great-great-grandparents."

Quentin shares a look with Eliot, then offers Annika a smile. "Was your grandfather named Teddy?"

Annika smiles. "My great grandfather," she says. "Father tells us he always said you'd come back."

"Well, here we are," Quentin says, the accompanying laugh slightly teary. "I - We weren't expecting to meet you so soon. Or at all. Anyone from the family, I mean. Time magic is... so weird, we weren't sure if it was _real._ "

"It was real," Annika assures them. "Real enough for me to be standing here telling you you're trespassing on your own property."

Quentin laughs a bit easier at that, and shifts on his feet, glancing at Eliot before asking, "Would you like to come in? I'm sure we've got something to offer you to drink, if you can stand the baby mess."

Annika beams. "I'd love to."

They go inside, and Quentin hands the Monster off to Eliot before getting their drinks. "So," he says, returning with three glasses, "why were you out here?"

"I just like coming up here sometimes," Annika admits. "It's peaceful. I was actually just on my way back from laying flowers on... Well, on your graves."

Quentin blinks, sitting heavily in his chair. "Our graves? I didn't - Where are they?"

"Not far," Annika says, looking uncomfortable. "You're both buried together, here, but Great Grandfather Ted put markers up next to his mother's grave."

Quentin cuts a glance at Eliot. "He must've found where I buried you and buried me next to you."

Eliot winces. "He meant well," he says. "Do you think we're still there?"

Quentin makes a face. "I have no idea, and frankly I don't want to try to find out." He glances back at Annika, smiles. "I'm glad that he put up markers next to Arielle's, though, and that people still come visit. Does the rest of your family come up, or...?"

"Oh, yes," Annika hastens to reassure him. "Not as often as me, but they come up on anniversaries."

"Tell us about your family?" Quentin requests. "We've been... busy. And I'm curious to know how you all turned out."

"Well," Annika says, "my grandfather is Teddy's youngest son. He and my grandmother had a son, my father, and two daughters. My mother is from a neighbouring village; she and my father had me and my younger brother, Jonathon. He helps my parents run the tavern we own, and I just started my apprenticeship with the local blacksmith. One of my aunts never married, but my other aunt has six children, so she makes up for it." She smiles. "And that's just my side of the family. I'm sure you know that Teddy had several children."

"Five," Eliot says faintly. "Two sons, three daughters."

Annika nods. "We have cousins all over Fillory," she says. "Some are still in the village."

Quentin looks equal parts overwhelmed and enthralled. "I - They all had good lives, then?" He glances at Eliot, something unreadable in his eyes, hidden beneath the faint sheen. "Our family is - it sounds _huge._ "

"It is," Annika says, her smile soft and proud. "But what did you expect? It was born from the beauty of all life."

Quentin bites his lip. "Do you think... I'd like to visit. See everyone that I can. Gods willing, we'll at least be around Fillory for a while yet. Do you think that - that would be possible?"

Annika laughs. "Of course! Once word reaches everyone that you're here, you'll be overrun. We've all heard so much about both of you, and Grandmother Arielle."

Eliot shifts the Monster in his lap, and smiles at her. "You look like her," he says.

"Oh." Annika blushes, looks down. "They tell me I do, but no one that knew her is still alive."

"It's kind of uncanny," Quentin agrees, smiling. "Except for the eyes - you've got Teddy's eyes."

"Your eyes," Eliot murmurs, and Annika smiles.

"What brings you back?" she asks, glancing pointedly at the Monster. "Are you here to do it all again?"

Quentin laughs, a bit nervously. "Not exactly. It's... a long story, but we're looking after him for a while."

"He's not yours?" Annika asks.

"No," Quentin says, shaking his head. "We're just looking after him for a while. Not sure how long, but we're... responsible for the situation he ended up in, so we had to take care of him."

Annika's eyes widen. "Perhaps I shouldn't mention this to my family just yet?"

"Not just yet," Quentin agrees. "But we should know soon when his - his guardians can take him."

Annika nods. "I'll keep it to myself," she promises. "But... maybe I could visit?"

"We'd like that a lot," Eliot tells her.

* * *

Annika does visit again the next week, but she leaves earlier than her last visit when the Monster starts fussing and won't calm down. Quentin and Eliot don't figure out what's bothering him until that night, when Quentin feeds him and notices something poking out of one of his gums. "He's teething!" he announces, relieved, and grabs one of his pacifiers and casts a quick freezing spell on it to chill the soft plastic. 

Of course, the chilled pacifier only works for as long as the spell does... And it wears off once Quentin falls asleep. He gets very little sleep that night, and nearly faceplants into his food more than once the next day. He does fall asleep in the rocker, only to wake up swearing when the Monster starts fussing. "Christ, he's worse than Teddy ever was," he groans, casting the spell again and rubbing his chilled fingers against his temples. 

"Give him to me," Eliot says, coming over and taking the Monster from Quentin's arms. The kid screams louder than ever, but then mashes his face into Eliot's chest and quiets down to whimpers. "Go to bed, I've got it from here."

"Are you sure?" Quentin asks around a yawn. 

"No," Eliot says, "I want you to stay awake indefinitely to look after the screaming baby while I sleep like the dead in the next room."

Quentin makes a face. "Ass. If he keeps _you_ up, though, just... I dunno. Wake me up. We can take turns renewing the spell."

"I will," Eliot promises. "But right now you need to go pass the fuck out. We'll be fine."

Quentin expresses his doubt about that with a vague mutter, but levers himself out of the rocker and into his room nonetheless. 

It takes two and a half hours for Eliot to give in. He knocks on Quentin's door, a gesture born purely of politeness since there's no way Quentin can sleep through the child screaming right on the other side of it, and lets himself into the dark master bedroom. "He won't settle at all," he murmurs when Quentin sits up. The light from the main room spills through the door and illuminates his face; he looks sleepy and rumpled and _lovely_. "I think he needs to be in his own bed. You could take my room?"

Quentin grumbles something probably uncomplimentary about the baby before shifting on the bed. "'S plenty big enough, and I'm not moving," he mumbles just loud enough to be heard. "Put him down, renew the spell, and lie down."

Eliot hesitates, but Quentin is already halfway back to sleep, so he clearly doesn't care. The Monster is still crying, for all of Eliot's attempts to soothe him; there's little to do except follow Quentin's instructions. He chills the pacifier first, and gives it back to the Monster before setting him down in the glorified bassinet at the foot of the bed. It actually works; the Monster calms as soon as his head touches the mattress, and he even yawns. Eliot isn't going to question it. He watches long enough to see those little eyes flutter closed, and then he turns back to the bed and crawls in beside Quentin. He doesn't realise he's holding his breath until Quentin speaks.

"Quit thinking so fucking loud." Quentin sounds vaguely annoyed, but mostly long-suffering. "That's my job. Go the fuck to sleep while you can."

"This is a very small bed," Eliot argues, though it isn't. Smaller than the one they'd magically enlarged when Arielle moved in with them, there's still plenty of room.

"You're not even touching me, Eliot," Quentin sighs. "Seriously. If you keep me up, you're gonna have two cranky assholes to deal with in the morning."

"I'm not doing anything," Eliot protests. "I'm just lying here."

"I told you, you're thinking too loud," Quentin retorts, shuffling around until he can face Eliot, his scowl barely visible in the darkened room. "I can magically put you to sleep if I need to, but then I'd have to deal with the Monster by myself. _Sleep,_ Eliot. So I can go back to sleep."

Eliot sighs and rolls over so that he's facing away from Quentin. "All right," he murmurs. "Sorry, Q."

There's a moment where Quentin doesn't move at all - or if he does, Eliot can't tell - and then Eliot hears Quentin sigh, and feels the bed shift as Quentin presumably settles back into sleep. 

* * *

The Monster continues to suffer over the next few days, and it quickly becomes apparent that Eliot won't be returning to his own bed anytime soon. They're both getting decent amounts of sleep by now, though, so the arrangement isn't too difficult to bear. It helps that they don't ever talk about it.

Eliot doesn't think they're ever going to talk about it, until Julia forces their hand. She pops into existence in the middle of Quentin's bedroom early one morning, and neither of them wake until she speaks.

"Oh my _God!_ "

Quentin wakes with a yelp, flailing himself right off of the bed, and the Monster starts crying when Quentin hits the floor. "Jesus, Jules," Quentin groans, pushing himself to his feet so he can scoop the Monster up, cuddling him close and rocking him. 

"Jesus yourself," Julia says, trying not to laugh. "Thank God you're not naked."

"Why the hell would I be naked?" Quentin grumps, running his fingers gently through the Monster's curls, gratified when the Monster whines but starts to settle, sobs subsiding into whimpers. 

"If you have to ask me that, you're doing something wrong," Julia says. Eliot waves vaguely at her from beneath the blankets, and is grateful when she drops the subject. "I'll wait for you in the front room, let you get your shit together."

"That's very gracious of you," Eliot manages.

Quentin rolls his eyes but just turns away from Julia, grabbing the pacifier from the Monster's bassinet and chilling it before offering it to him. The Monster takes it, and Quentin reaches for his blanket, using it to dry the tears on his face before he starts getting dressed. He and Eliot get dressed quickly, and meet Julia in the living room. "What was so important you had to teleport right into my room instead of knocking like a civilized person?"

"In my defence," Julia says, "if you'd been on your own it wouldn't have been as dramatic as that. But." She sighs. "The reason I'm here is important. Sort of. You know how I said it wouldn't take me long to find some gods willing to deal with the Monster?"

Quentin and Eliot share an apprehensive look. "Yeah."

"Well, I might have been wrong," Julia admits.

"How wrong?" Eliot asks.

"All of the lesser gods I can find don't want anything to do with it," Julia says. "And the Old Gods, the ones who actually created the Monster in the first place, seem to be... gone."

"'Gone'?" Quentin echoes, eyes wide. "Like, dead?"

"Not as far as I can tell," Julia says. "If they weren't literally the most ancient and powerful gods in the world, I'd say they'd gone into hiding. I don't know if it's because they know I'm trying to find them to deal with the Monster, or because they just don't give a shit anymore, but they really don't want to be found."

Quentin sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "So it's gonna take longer than you thought, then."

"A lot longer," Julia says. "I'm really sorry, guys. Penny and I are doing all we can, but I honestly don't know what it's going to take to draw them out."

Quentin glances at Eliot. "Well, we didn't have any plans to go anywhere."

Julia looks like she wants to protest, but they all know there's nowhere she can go with it. Whether it's fair or not, Quentin and Eliot are kind of the only ones for this job. She sighs. "How's it been going?" she asks. "He's not giving you too much trouble?"

"Some tantrums, and now he's teething," Quentin says. "Other than that, he's been surprisingly... easy."

"Apart from when we had a fight and he slammed a door on my ass while I was storming out," Eliot says dryly.

Julia's eyes widen. "He did what?"

"He's magic, Jules," Quentin points out. "Like. Literally _made_ of magic. At the time, he liked me more, so, when we fought..."

"Is he dangerous?" Julia asks. "Is he actually attacking you?"

"No," Quentin assures her. "Absolutely not."

Julia takes a long moment to look between them, but in the end she just nods. "All right," she says. "I'd better be going. Q, walk me out?"

Quentin raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment, just passes the Monster to Eliot. "Sure."

Julia says goodbye to Eliot, and promises to be back as soon as she can with more news, before leading the way outside. As soon as the front door is closed behind them, she turns on Quentin. "Okay," she says, "what the hell was that?"

Quentin doesn't have to ask what she's talking about. "I told you, the Monster is teething. He won't sleep without his pacifier being chilled and being in his bassinet, and the spell wears off after we go to sleep."

"So you're sharing a bed," Julia says. "Q, co-parenting practicalities aside, is that smart?"

Quentin sighs. "I don't know," he confesses. "But I think... maybe it will be. Eventually. He's... I know him, Jules. Trust me, I'm being as smart about this as I can."

Julia's mouth twists, and she reaches out to touch his arm. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Q."

"I know," Quentin says, laying his hand over Julia's and squeezing. "And I appreciate it, but I've got it under control."

Julia doesn't look convinced, but she lets it go. "Well, you know how to reach me if you need me," she says. "Take care of yourself, Q."

"You, too, Jules," Quentin says, reaching out to pull her into a hug. "Love you."

Julia squeezes him tight. "Love you," she murmurs.

* * *

The scene before Eliot is one so familiar it makes his heart ache. It's getting late. They've had dinner, fed and bathed the Monster, and now Quentin is playing with him on the floor before the fire, trying to tire the kid out enough that he'll take his evening bottle and go to bed. Eliot himself is watching from the rocking chair, a fond smile on his face that he schools quickly before he speaks so that Quentin doesn't look up and see it. "Where did William come from, when Annika showed up?"

Quentin winces. "Penny," he admits sheepishly. "His first name is William, and - it was the first one I thought of."

Eliot snorts. "You named the kid after Penny?"

"Who the hell else was I supposed to name him after?" Quentin demands, but he's laughing as he does so, scooping the Monster into his arms to tickle him. "I panicked; we couldn't just tell her he's a monster."

Eliot hums. "I've actually been thinking about that," he says.

"Oh?"

"Well, if we're in this for the long haul, then we can't keep calling him the Monster," Eliot says. "Maybe we should give him a name."

Quentin blinks, glances down at the baby in his arms. "We're probably giving him a complex," he muses. "And we can't call him the Monster when we go to the village."

"Exactly," Eliot says. "I guess William is as good a name as any?"

"It is," Quentin agrees, tickling the - tickling _William_ just to hear him laugh. "Alright. William, then."

"Will," Eliot decides. "That's better."

"Will," Quentin agrees, smiling as he looks up at Eliot, Will giggling in his arms. 

* * *

After that conversation, it seems like a natural progression for them to decide to go into the village. They've run out of excuses to put it off, and besides, they're ready now. Quentin's ready now.

They send word to Annika, and she meets them outside of the tavern her parents own. "They know you're coming," she tells them, after they've exchanged hugs. "I haven't told them who you are, just that I've got some friends I want them to meet."

"I'm sure they'll work it out quickly," Quentin says, clearly equal parts nervous and excited. "They're inside?"

Annika nods. "They're both working, but they're going to join us for lunch."

Quentin takes a deep breath. "Okay. Let's go inside, then."

The tavern is a good size and dimly lit, tables crowded together in such a way that it feels more cosy than cramped. It's also very warm, and busy for the time of day, people gathered together drinking or sharing a meal. It's a nice place, clearly the hub of the community, and Eliot can't help but feel a swell of pride. Their family built this.

Annika leads them through the tables to the bar, and waves to the woman behind it. "Cecilia," she says, "can you tell Mother and Father we're here?"

Cecilia grins. “Sure thing, Annika. Give me just a moment - I’m sure you can get your friends something to drink while I’m gone.”

Annika nods and rounds the bar. "What would you like?" she asks them. "We still sell the peach wine you used to make with Great Grandmother Arielle's peaches."

That goes through Eliot like a shot. "I'd love a glass," he says, his voice hoarse.

"I'll take one, too," Quentin says, his own voice rough. "Do you guys still own the orchard, too?"

"It's still in the family," Annika tells them while she pours. "My aunt and some of my cousins look after it now."

”That’s great,” Quentin says, sounding completely genuine and like he can’t find any other words to encompass what he’s feeling. Luckily, he’s saved from having to try by Annika placing a glass of wine in front of him and another in front of Eliot. When Quentin picks it up and takes his first sip, he has to close his eyes, brace against the rush of emotion and _memory._ “Just like you used to make,” he murmurs, glancing at Eliot when he feels like he can finally open his eyes without giving away just how overwhelmed he is.

Eliot smiles at him, but is thankfully spared having to find words by the appearance of an older couple from behind the bar.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, darling, we were just finishing up with the books," the woman says, coming over to kiss Annika on the cheek. "Are these your friends? It's a pleasure to meet-- Oh!" She cuts herself off, her wide-eyed gaze stuck on Quentin. "Oh, Harold, he looks so like you."

It's quickly obvious where Annika got her observational skills from, and her reasoning. "No," Harold says slowly, studying Quentin intently. The resemblance truly is uncanny. "I think _I_ look like _him._ "

"Maybe we should find a table?" Annika suggests.

"Yes," Eliot says, taking both his and Quentin's glasses. "Let's."

Cecilia takes back over at the bar, though the look on her face makes it clear that she's _extremely_ curious about what just happened, and the rest of them take a table in one corner of the tavern. Quentin adjusts Will in his arms, his gaze never leaving Harold. "It - It's good to meet you," he says, "both of you."

"I'm sorry," the woman, Annika's mother, says. "But who _are_ you?"

Before Eliot can speak, Annika answers for them, her smile soft and smug. "Mother, Father," she says, "this is Quentin and Eliot Coldwater-Waugh."

Quentin almost chokes on his own tongue, but Eliot does the same, so it's not that bad. Harold and his wife look shocked, too, but Harold recovers the fastest. "Harold Coldwater-Waugh," he says, holding his hand out to Eliot. "And this is my wife, Irene."

Eliot takes his hand and shakes it, pleased by Harold's firm grip. "It's so good to meet you," he says. "Both of you."

"Likewise," Harold says, shifting his attention to Quentin, who adjusts Will so that he can shake his grandson's hand. "And who's this?"

"Our ward," Quentin answers, stroking a hand over Will's head. "We're taking care of him for a while."

"They've moved back into the old cottage," Annika tells her parents. "I went up there to visit a couple of weeks ago and found them."

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Irene says, "but how did you get here?"

Quentin chuckles, shrugs one shoulder. "Time magic is... very weird. Eliot and I lived our lives here, but... I'm sure you know why we were at the cottage to start?"

Harold nods. "The mosaic. It's a family legend."

Quentin tilts his head. "At the very end of my life, after we finally solved the mosaic, I sent two letters. One to Teddy, telling him what happened, and the other - The other I sent into the future. To High Queen Margo, _before_ we left for the mosaic, letting her know where to find the key we got from the mosaic in our original time. She got it, and stopped us from going to the mosaic."

"But apparently something went wonky," Eliot says, "because we still remember that life even though we technically haven't lived it, and, well. You're all still here."

"Gods," Irene says. "That's... beyond comprehension."

Eliot smiles. "Tell us about it."

Harold nods towards Will. "And your ward?"

"Another long story," Quentin says with a slightly-nervous laugh. "Too long to get into now, really."

"It must be bringing back memories," Irene offers. "Back in that house, a little one taking up all your attention." She raises her eyebrows at them over her wine glass. "I hope you're still finding time for each other."

Quentin nearly chokes again on his next sip of wine. "I - Uh, that's - It's not like that. Being back there does bring back memories, but that's all they are. Memories. We weren't together when we went to the mosaic the first time, and when Margo stopped us... We aren't the same people we were at the mosaic, not exactly.”

Irene's eyes widen, but it's Annika who demands, "So you aren't together anymore?"

Eliot clears his throat. "Technically, in our timeline, we never were."

Quentin nods. "It - We didn't get together until we'd been at the mosaic for a year," he says, though it doesn't seem to help. He can't make himself stop, though. "We're not the same people we were then, and we went down a different road."

"Oh," Annika breathes. She looks like she might cry. "But your love spanned decades. It solved the mosaic."

Eliot gets abruptly to his feet. "This has been lovely," he says. "Harold, Irene, it's wonderful to meet you. You've raised one hell of a daughter. We'll have to do this again sometime, but for now, if you could excuse me." He takes his leave without actually waiting to be excused.

Quentin watches him go, turning to Annika and her parents with an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry for his behavior. This just... isn't something we've talked about for a while. And the last time we did, it didn't go much better. I guess it's a bit of a sensitive topic."

"Of course it is," Annika says, "if he's still in love with you."

Quentin laughs, but it's dry, humorless. "It's more like the other way around," he says. "But you don't want to listen to our drama anymore than I want to talk about it. Tell me about our family, please. I want to know _everything._ "

Annika opens her mouth to argue, but Irene silences her with a look and then turns to her husband. "Over to you, love."

Harold heaves a put-upon sigh, but then grins. “Alright, well - Where to start…”

* * *

When Quentin and Will get back to the cottage, it's immediately obvious that Eliot isn't back yet. It's starting to get dark, but Quentin purposefully does not worry, and instead sets about Will's evening routine. He feeds him, bathes him, and gets him ready for bed, forgoing dinner himself in favour of rocking Will to sleep in his arms, and then continuing to rock long after Will is safely tucked into his bassinet.

He's lost in thought and just starting to spiral when the door opens and Eliot walks in. He doesn't even hesitate, just walks right over to the far side of the room and starts fixing himself some tea. "Hey," he says mildly, almost as an afterthought. "Did you have a good time?"

"Good enough," Quentin says, watching Eliot closely. "You?"

Eliot shrugs. "It was fine."

Something sparks in Quentin's chest then, something hot and petty. "Well, I spent most of the afternoon talking with our family; I hope you didn't go out and find one of them to fuck."

The teaspoon in Eliot's hand clatters to the floor. "You think I fucked one of our grandkids?"

Quentin shrugs. "I know how you like to distract yourself from... _difficult_ topics," he points out. "And you're not related to any of them by blood."

Eliot spins to look at him and, mindful of the child sleeping in the next room, hisses, " _Fuck you,_ Quentin. How dare you say that? How dare you take this from me _now?_ "

Quentin's eyes flash, and he pushes himself out of the chair, hands clenched into fists at his side. "Am I wrong, though?" he retorts. "Every _fucking_ time our life together comes up, every _gods-damned_ time our _relationship_ comes up, you walk out! You push me and anyone else away, and you haul ass like your tail is on fire. Usually that takes you to the closest wine bottle or warm body that'll have you, and I _know_ Teddy was your son, too, but not by blood, so if you accidentally fuck one of his grandkids without realizing then it's not that big of a deal, is it?"

"Of course it's a big deal!" Eliot snaps. "They're my grandkids, too, and they all _look like you!_ "

"Yeah, well even if they look like me they _aren't_ me, so I'm sure it's the best of both - " A knock at the door cuts him off, and Quentin freezes, frowning. He glances at the door, but before he can move, it swings open. 

"I hope you don't mind that I let myself in," Margo says, gaze sharp for all that her posture is as relaxed as Quentin's ever seen. "It's a bit nippy outside - but not that much better in here."

"Fucking Christ, Margo," Eliot huffs. "Perfect timing, as usual."

"Of course," Margo says, gaze flicking from Quentin to Eliot. "I haven't seen my best friend in weeks, or the little monster that he's supposed to be taking care of. I thought it was about time for a visit."

"Well," Eliot says, "the little monster is asleep, so unless this isn't a flying visit, you'll have to just settle for us."

"I have time," Margo hums. "Fen's taking care of the castle for now. How _have_ things been going with the Monster?"

"Fine," Eliot says. "We named him."

Margo raises an eyebrow, glancing at Quentin. "William," he provides. "We call him Will. Julia said it was taking longer than she'd thought it would to find someone to take him, and we figured we couldn't just keep calling him the Monster, especially when we went to the village."

That seems to pique Margo's interest. "And have you? Gone to the village?"

"Yes," Eliot says tightly. "We met some lovely people. I fucked none of them."

Margo raises an eyebrow, glancing at Quentin who just rolls his eyes. "Eliot was just about to make tea, and I was just about to head to sleep," he says. "It's been a long day, and I need to sleep while Will does or else I'll never get any. It's good to see you, Margo." And with a nod, he disappears into the bedroom.

Margo watches him go before turning back to Eliot. "Any particular reason you specified that you hadn't fucked any of the people in the village?"

Eliot doesn't look at her, instead busying himself with making the tea Quentin mentioned. "It was a particular point of interest for our high-strung nerd."

"Mhm," Margo hums, coming over so she can lean against the counter. "Because he's jealous?"

Eliot laughs. "No," he says. "Because he's bitter and an idiot."

Margo doesn't comment, just raises her eyebrow higher before steering the conversation back to safer topics as Eliot finishes preparing the tea. 

Things get awkward again once they're ready to go to bed. Even if Margo wasn't staying, there's no question of Eliot sleeping with Quentin, but now two people have to squash themselves into Eliot's tiny bed. He leads Margo to the second bedroom, and opens the door, stepping back to allow her to enter first. "It's not much," he says, the understatement of the century.

"No, it's not," Margo agrees with a laugh as she steps into the room. "It's... charming. I like it." She takes a moment to examine the room before stepping closer to the bed, where she reaches out to pluck at the outermost sheet. "Hm. Stiff." She glances back at Eliot. "And neatly made. How long has it been since you slept in this bed?"

Eliot rolls his eyes. "What a stupid question," he says. "Get into bed, Bambi."

Margo does, but she only waits until Eliot's snug against her before she speaks again. "What's going on with you and Q, baby?" she murmurs, wrapping an arm around Eliot's chest. "I've never seen you two at each other's throats like that."

Eliot sighs. "Nothing," he says. "We're both just angry and stubborn. It'll blow over."

Margo doesn't say anything else for a long moment, and then she sighs. "I just hope you don't let it fester," she murmurs. "You deserve to be happy."

* * *

It's not the first time they've shared a bed, even one as small as this, so Margo and Eliot sleep through the night undisturbed until Eliot finally gets up and heads into the kitchen to make breakfast. "I need to get some coffee beans over here stat," Margo mutters, sitting at the table with another mug of tea in her hands. "Tea just isn't the same."

"Tell me about it," Eliot says darkly. "Every day is a struggle."

"Especially with a baby waking you up every few hours," Quentin yawns, emerging from the bedroom with a still-sleepy Will on his hip. "He wasn't very happy last night, fair warning."

Eliot pouts at the baby, and starts to walk over before he stalls, unsure of his welcome. "Do you want me to take him?" he asks.

"I've got him," Quentin says, arm tightening around Will. "What are you making?"

Eliot tries not to let the rejection show on his face. He clears his throat and turns back to the stove. "Just eggs," he says, "toast. I'm not feeling very inspired this morning."

"Wow," Margo cuts in, eyes on Will. "He's... gotten big."

"It has been several weeks, and babies grow fast," Quentin points out without heat, moving towards the table. "He eats a lot, too."

"That's an understatement," Eliot laughs.

"And he seems... well-adjusted?" Margo asks, eyeing Will who's now squinting at her blearily. "He doesn't _seem_ like the Monster we knew."

"He's had some tantrums, but nothing really major yet," Quentin says, adjusting Will as he takes a seat at the table. "He's been... pretty normal for a baby."

Margo studies them for a moment before she reaches out, still sitting. "Can I - "

Will's eyes flash, and Margo rocks back in her chair like she's been shoved, the legs of the chair screeching against the floor as she slides back a foot.

Eliot whirls around, his eyes wide. "What the fuck, kid?"

Will's lip wobbles, but his expression stays scrunched; he looks more like he's pouting than about to throw a tantrum. Quentin just rolls his eyes and gives Will a slight bounce. "I'm all for reinforcing boundaries, but we have _got_ to work on that," he says. "Sorry, I should've warned you; he's still weird about people just reaching for him."

"It took him almost a month to warm up to me," Eliot says darkly.

"Well, he clearly has his favorite," Margo says diplomatically, giving Eliot a significant look. "Everyone does."

Eliot gives her a tight smile. "How do you want your eggs, Bambi?"

"Scrambled," she answers, propping her chin on her hand and giving Eliot a winning smile. "Like your priorities."

* * *

Margo spends most of that day with them before she leaves for Castle Whitespire again. Eliot is clearly sad to see her go, but her visit had also done him a world of good; he seems more like _himself_ , and Quentin finds himself watching Eliot with what is surely a besotted smile on his face whenever Eliot isn’t looking for the rest of that day. 

They don’t talk much after Margo leaves, still a bit unsure about how to act after the fight that got interrupted, and Quentin’s more than a little mad at himself for being disappointed that Eliot doesn’t come to sleep in his room that night. He’s not the only one, though; Will is fussier than he’s been in weeks, refusing to sleep for more than an hour at a time, and nothing Quentin does works to soothe him for long. Eventually, Quentin settles for sleeping with Will in his arms; it works better than anything else, but still not good _enough._

Eliot obviously knows that something’s wrong; he doesn’t look like he got much more sleep than Quentin did, honestly. But neither of them bring it up through the whole day, and the atmosphere in the cottage is quiet, subdued - almost sullen. Quentin’s honestly not sure how they make it through the day, but they do - and when Will continues to fuss even _more_ when Quentin tries to put him to bed, Quentin finally caves. “Alright, you little bastard,” he mutters, sighing as he scoops Will back into his arms. “You win. Can you calm down long enough for me to tell Eliot to get his ass back in here?” Will whines, his expression screwed up, but he subsides into a whimper when Quentin rocks him, nudging the door open with his foot before walking across the cottage to Eliot’s door. He doesn’t let himself hesitate before knocking.

Eliot opens the door within moments, and it's clear he hasn't slept yet either. "What is it?" he asks, his gaze on the squirming baby in Quentin's arms. "Is he okay?"

"Just fussy," Quentin sighs. "He was like this last night, too. Wouldn't go down for more than an hour. I think he's pissed we aren't all in the same room."

"Oh," Eliot says. He sounds disappointed, somehow. "Well, he'll have to get used to it. I'll take him tonight so you can get some sleep."

"I tried literally everything to get him to go down last night," Quentin points out. "If you think you've got some trick that I don't know, be my guest."

"Well, what else do you suggest?" Eliot asks sharply.

Quentin rolls his eyes. “Come back to bed so we can all get some sleep, El.”

Some emotion flickers across Eliot's face, but it's gone before Quentin can put a name to it. "You don't actually want that," he says.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," Quentin points out. "Seriously, El. Just - Just come sleep with us."

For a second Quentin is sure that Eliot will refuse, but then he sighs and shakes his head. "Fine," he says. "I'm coming."

Quentin offers him a small smile before turning and heading back to the bedroom. He uses the time before Eliot comes to the bedroom to prepare himself for the fact that Eliot is going to be sleeping in his - _their_ \- bed again, so that when Eliot does finally come through the door, Will is settled in his bassinet once more, watching Quentin intently as he fusses with the sheets. "I don't want to just... trade sleepless nights. This way we can all get a decent amount of sleep."

"Yeah," Eliot says, already climbing into bed. "It is more convenient. Just less than ideal."

Quentin pauses. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, hesitant without being confrontational. 

Eliot shrugs, not looking at Quentin. "What I said," he says. "Neither one of us wants to be sharing a bed to appease a bratty infant."

Quentin bites his lip, but swallows back what he wants to say. "Yeah, well. It's - It's just for a while. Until Will gets out of this stage."

Eliot nods, almost to himself, and lies down, pulling the sheet up to his chin. A few careless tuts sends the room into darkness. "Goodnight, kid," he murmurs. "'Night, Q."

”Goodnight, El,” Quentin sighs, settling into the bed and ignoring the way something deep in his chest relaxes at the faint warmth from Eliot’s side of the bed.

* * *

Will sleeps through the night, and through the next two nights as Quentin and Eliot slowly find their rhythm again. There’s a tension beneath all of their interactions that slowly fades, but it’s never far from Quentin’s mind. He thinks he might recognize the tension if he lets himself think about it - but he tries not to. 

A few days later, the weather’s warm enough and it rained recently enough that Eliot and Quentin take Will down to the nearby creek to play. Eliot cools his feet in the stream while Quentin strips down to his underwear and a t-shirt and joins Will in the same pool that Teddy had once played in, helping Will splash through the water after minnows and crawfish and bugs. The activity keeps Will occupied, and helps him start learning how his lower limbs are supposed to work, and Quentin can’t help but laugh when Will uses his magic to corral a minnow closer so that he can try to grab it. Quentin stops him, shows him how to gently pet the minnow while keeping it underwater, and is gratified when Will doesn’t fuss and insteads makes it his goal to pet every single minnow in the pool.

Their pleasant afternoon is interrupted by a sudden _pop,_ which startles Will, who stumbles back into Quentin’s arms with a sharp cry. Quentin gathers him up in his arms, soothing him as he looks up to where Julia is standing on the rocky slope, expression anxious. Something shivers up Quentin’s spine, and he pulls Will closer. “What’s wrong?”

"Did you find them?" Eliot asks, getting to his feet, but Julia shakes her head.

"No," she says. "They found me."

"They found you?" Quentin demands, pushing himself to his feet and settling Will on his hip. "What did they say?"

"They wanted to warn me," Julia says. "They thought I was looking for the Monster, not that we already had him. And when they found out what's happened to him..."

Quentin brings one hand up to cup the back of Will's head, foreboding rushing through him as he hugs his s - his _charge_ protectively. "Jules," he says, barely breathes. "What are they planning?"

"They're going to kill him," Julia says.

Quentin gapes at her for a moment before his expression turns furious. "The _hell_ they are!" he snarls. "He's not the Monster anymore, they have no right."

Eliot holds a hand out to Quentin. "Just, wait a second," he says. "Why do they want to kill him? He's an innocent child."

"A child with more power than anyone knows what to do with," Julia says. "A child who, as an adult, wreaked so much havoc that he had to be locked away in a fortress, because he couldn't be stopped. The gods who created him want to keep that from happening again."

"Do they think it's inevitable?" Eliot asks, searching her face.

"Are you serious right now?" Quentin demands, turning to Eliot, his eyes flashing. "He was like that _because_ of how the Old Gods treated him. Ora told me his story, how the Librarians _sacrificed_ his sister, and when he flipped out, the Old Gods decided that punishing _him_ was the best choice!"

"Just wait," Eliot snaps. "Do they think it's inevitable?"

Julia sighs. "No," she says. "But they think it's better to kill him now than to risk it happening again."

"And what do you think?" Eliot asks.

Julia looks at the baby in Quentin's arms, for once not squirming or fighting for attention, but just watching the adults around him. "I think if he's raised and loved by good people, and taught good values, and how to control his powers, it might not be an issue."

"That's what we've been doing," Quentin says, unable to keep himself from running a hand down Will's back. "His control's already so much better. I'm not letting them take him without a fight, Eliot."

"I'm not, either," Eliot says. "I was just making sure that she's on our side."

Quentin searches Eliot's expression for a long moment before he turns back to Julia. "Do you have any idea when they're coming?"

"We have a couple of days at most," Julia says, helpless.

"That's hardly any time," Quentin breathes, stricken - but then he takes a deep breath, expression determined. "Eliot, do you still have that gun?"

Eliot gives him a strange look. "Of course I do."

”Good.” Quentin nods. "I'm not letting them just _kill_ him," he says, jaw set in determination. "If they won't listen to us, then..."

"We can't kill the oldest gods in the universe," Eliot snaps. "We couldn't even kill the thing they created!"

"No," Julia agrees, "but if we can't reason with them, maybe we can scare them."

"I killed a god once, I'll do my damnedest to do it again before they take Will," Quentin snaps back. "Besides, they made him and his sister _more_ powerful than they are. He has the powers of multiple gods. That gun is going to fucking hurt them if nothing else, and I bet they know it."

Eliot swallows. "All right," he says. "We need a solid plan, here. Maybe we should consider going back to the cottage?"

Quentin nods, stepping out of the creek and drying himself and Will with a spell, and Julia follows them and Eliot back up the path to the cottage.

* * *

There isn’t really much they can do to plan for the arrival of the Old Gods, in the end. Julia promises to keep an ear out, try to make it back before the Old Gods do while searching for a way to maybe make Eliot’s gun more powerful, but in the end, they decide on keeping Will close to them, closer than ever before, and always having the gun within arm’s reach. When the Old Gods arrive, they’ll pray to Julia, and she’ll come back them up. 

It’s… not much of a plan - it barely even _qualifies_ as a plan - but it’s all that they can do. Julia leaves, promising to talk to the others and get their support, and Quentin tries to distract himself by fussing over Will, playing with him and generally paying him more attention. Will certainly doesn’t mind, and the second night after Julia leaves, he’s so tired out that he’s asleep even before Quentin puts him to bed. 

Quentin and Eliot stay up for a little longer, reinforcing their wards - there’s no way that they can keep the Old Gods out, but they can at least know when they’ve arrived - and generally wasting time until they can go to bed themselves. They haven’t tried sleeping apart since Margo’s visit, and Quentin’s grateful for it; he doesn’t know that he could handle sleeping alone right now. 

The two of them are quiet as they climb into bed, but Quentin just… has a feeling that it’s now or never; it’s time to speak up, or he might never get a chance again. “Eliot?” he murmurs once the lights are out and Eliot’s slid under the covers with him. “Can I - Can I ask you something?”

"Of course," Eliot says, agreeable enough. "What's on your mind?"

"Tomorrow," Quentin says. "Well, I mean, after we meet with the Old Gods..." He swallows. "What are we going to do?"

"Hope that we don't die?" Eliot suggests.

Quentin rolls his eyes. "No, I meant _after_ \- " He cuts himself off with a sigh. "Never mind. It's nothing."

The bed creaks a little as Eliot rolls over to face him. "No," he says. "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing," Quentin insists. "Just my anxiety talking."

"Q," Eliot sighs. "You know you can talk to me."

Quentin worries his lip for a moment before he finally asks, "What if we survive? What... What are we going to do afterwards?"

Eliot thinks about it. "I guess we'll have to figure out what we're going to do with the kid," he says. "As much fun as we're having out here, it's not really practical to stay."

Quentin tilts his head. "And... what if we lose? What if we lose him, or I - or somebody else. If I... sacrifice myself, that's one thing. But if I get somebody else killed..."

"Quentin," Eliot says, his voice harsh in the darkness. "You are not going to die. None of us are going to die, but you _sacrificing_ yourself is not an option."

"You keep _saying_ that but then - " Quentin stops himself, blows out a harsh breath. "We're going up against the oldest gods, El. Someone might die."

Eliot takes a moment. "All right," he says. "Someone might die. But I'll rip the bastards apart with my own hands before I let it be you."

Quentin shifts, propping himself on an elbow as he studies Eliot. "You really mean that," he murmurs. He swallows then. "El, I - " He pauses, takes a shuddering breath, and changes track. "I'd do the same. For you and Will."

Eliot reaches out, then, until his hand is cupping Quentin's neck, his thumb sweeping softly along Quentin's jaw. "I know," he murmurs.

Quentin freezes, hardly daring to breathe as he searches Eliot's expression through the gloom. "El?"

Eliot doesn't answer, at least not with words, but he surges up into Quentin's space and brings their mouths together. Quentin gasps against Eliot's mouth, returning the kiss eagerly, unashamedly. He reaches up, curves his hand around the back of Eliot's neck and presses closer, putting them chest-to-chest, his skin burning everywhere it touches Eliot's. 

It doesn't take long for Eliot to break the kiss, only to start sucking and biting his way down Quentin's throat. The hand that isn't on Quentin's neck paws at his waist, urgent with the need to have him even closer - or, better yet: "Off," Eliot groans. "Get them off."

"I'll do yours if you do mine," Quentin bargains on a gasp, already reaching for the strings at Eliot's waist. 

"Yeah, yeah okay," Eliot agrees. He makes quick work of the ties on Quentin's pants and pushes them past his hips, even lifts his own hips so that Quentin can do the same for him, before he pushes Quentin away. "We're not doing this with our pants around our knees like horny teenagers. Come on."

Quentin makes a frustrated noise. "Ugh, fine, just - just get _back_ here," he says, shucking his pants and dropping them somewhere over the side of the bed. 

Once they're both naked and a little shivery in a way that has nothing to do with the chill in the room, Eliot drags Quentin back into his arms. "We have to be quiet," he says, chuckling when Quentin mewls against his mouth. "Neither of us want to be interrupted by a screaming baby."

Quentin laughs quietly at that, letting his hands roam over as much of Eliot's skin as he can reach. "You better find a way to keep me quiet, then," he murmurs, pressing in for another kiss, nipping at Eliot's lip as he shifts, hitches one leg over Eliot's to pull them closer. 

Eliot grins, gets his hand in Quentin's hair and tugs just the right side of too hard. "I think that can be arranged," he purrs.

Quentin whines, high at the back of his throat, and leans into the pressure before ducking in to bite another kiss to Eliot's lips. One hand drags over Eliot's ribs, finds the cut of his hip and follows it inward until he can wrap his hand around Eliot's cock, stroking in a way that feels almost lazy, except for how _practiced_ the motion is. " _Gods,_ I've missed this," Quentin sighs, letting his mouth shift from Eliot's to the cut of his jaw. 

"Me too," Eliot breathes, his hand tightening on Quentin's hip. "Fuck, Q. I want--"

Quentin smirks against Eliot's skin, kissing and nipping his way down Eliot's neck and over his chest, sliding himself down the bed just far enough to make his intention known. "It would keep me quiet," he muses, glancing up at Eliot with a grin. "But _you'd_ have to find some way to keep yourself quiet."

Eliot laughs, though he already sounds a little breathless. "Bring it on, Coldwater."

Quentin grins up at Eliot, eyes bright with the challenge, before he finishes his journey downwards. He settles between Eliot's legs easily, does his best to ignore the way Eliot's knees against his ribs soothes something aching between them. He doesn't waste time teasing, just wraps his hand around Eliot's cock and leans in to slide his mouth over the head, cheeks hollowing. 

All of Eliot's breath leaves him in a long, ragged sigh, and he reaches down to slide his fingers into Quentin's hair, not tugging or guiding, just holding. "Oh fuck. Oh, Q."

Quentin would grin if his mouth weren't currently full. He settles instead for taking Eliot deeper into his mouth, rolling his tongue against the sensitive skin on the underside of Eliot's cock as he shifts his hand to make room for his lips. They stretch wide around the girth of Eliot's cock, but Quentin relaxes his jaw and keeps going, ignoring the stretch for now. He keeps ignoring it until the head of Eliot's cock bumps against the back of his throat, but when Quentin tries to swallow around him, the way he always did - 

He has to pull back instead, gagging, but he wrestles control of his throat back quickly enough that when he pulls off of Eliot's cock, he can replace his mouth with his hand, stroking almost absentmindedly. "Shit," he says, voice hoarse. "Guess muscle memory doesn't cover everything."

"It's okay," Eliot says, though he sounds like it's anything but. "You haven't-- You don't have to."

"I want to," Quentin argues. "Been a while, but I want to. I'll go slower." Despite this promise, however, he doesn't give Eliot a chance to reply before he ducks down and takes Eliot's cock back into his mouth. He doesn't try to take him all at once - he doesn't think either of them will last long enough for him to _really_ try again, but he'll be damned if he doesn't make this good. 

He must be succeeding, because Eliot starts making soft sounds in the back of his throat, his hand clenching and unclenching in Quentin's hair while his hips make these restless little aborted movements, like he wants to fuck Quentin's face but he doesn't dare. After a moment or two of this, Quentin makes an impatient noise and curls one hand around Eliot's hip, pulling him closer; Eliot curses under his breath, but he finally grips Quentin's hair the way he wants and starts to move.

They ease into a rhythm, mindful of both Will sleeping feet away and the fact that, in _this_ time, _this_ body, Quentin hasn't had Eliot's cock in his mouth for years. Overlapping memories make it hard for Quentin to remember that, though, and sometimes he bobs his head just a little too far only to pull back just in time. 

Eliot's tells are still the same, however - trembling thighs, a careful tightening in his grip, the slightest stutter in the rhythm they've built... He's close, and Quentin really isn't going to last much longer, either. He tilts his head and glances up at Eliot as he very deliberately rolls his fingers against Eliot's cock on the downstroke, his lips following his fingers until they meet. Eliot makes a broken sound, his head falling back against the pillows. His hold on Quentin's hair changes for a second, becomes urgent and insistent, but then it's all over and Eliot is coming.

Quentin works him through it, swallows his release before he finally follows the urgent tugging of Eliot’s hands back up to kiss the taste of him into Eliot’s mouth, unable to help the way that his hips rock, grinding his still-aching cock against Eliot’s hip. “ _El,_ ” he gasps, a breathless, urgent plea that Eliot answers with another hard kiss before smoothing a hand down Quentin’s back, sweeping over his hip and reaching between them to shift himself before gently taking Quentin’s cock in his hand, guiding him into a position that Quentin recognizes. He moans, the sound bitten-off against Eliot’s collarbone as he thrusts forward, the head of his cock rubbing against Eliot’s balls and the soft skin behind them. He’s far too close to truly enjoy the sensation, chasing his orgasm near-mindlessly between Eliot’s thighs until he’s coming, spilling hot and wet with a gasp he muffles against Eliot’s skin.

He shifts up, seeks out Eliot’s mouth for an urgent kiss that gentles without either of them consciously making it so, that goes from biting and gasping to soft, quiet sounds Quentin remembers from another life. It’s almost habit, is surely muscle memory, that has his fingers moving in an absent tut, cleaning the mess between Eliot’s thighs without thinking about it. They shift on the bed, rearrange themselves without putting any distance between them, and they barely notice when they fall asleep.

They sure as hell notice when their wards go off in the morning, though.

Eliot sits bolt upright at exactly the same moment as Quentin, and their heads bash together hard, but neither of them feel it. "Shit," Eliot hisses, already out of bed and halfway into a pair of pants. "Grab the kid!"

Quentin's already got his own pants on, and scoops Will into his arms before grabbing a shirt, using magic to slip it on and button it up without letting Will go. The baby is tense in his arms, whimpering when Quentin jostles him, and he takes a moment to soothe Will, pressing his lips to his forehead as he prays almost frantically for Julia to show up. A glance to the side shows that Eliot's ready, and they can't wait any longer. "Let's go," Quentin says, jaw set as he settles Will in his arms. 

Eliot flashes him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "We've got this," he says.

Their visitors are waiting for them on the other side of the empty clearing, and at first Eliot is a little underwhelmed. There are only two, a man and a woman, and they look like... perfectly ordinary folk. At least, they do until he and Quentin draw a little closer and feel the sheer power radiating unchecked off of them, so much that it puts Niffin-Alice, and even Julia, to shame. The four of them just regard each other for a long moment, Will's face hidden against Quentin's chest, until Eliot decides he may as well break the silence.

"Look," he tries. "We don't want any trouble."

The woman smiles, and Eliot's skin crawls. She looks just like any other unremarkable woman he might have seen on the street, except that she doesn't. There's something about the curve of her mouth, or her eyes - _something_ that suggests this body was put together by someone who hasn't seen a human up close for a very long time, if at all. The Uncanny Valley vibe gets worse when she speaks. "Nor do we," she says, and Eliot feels her voice like a caress; like a punch to the chest. "Just give us the child, and you'll be allowed to live."

"Like _hell,_ " Quentin snarls, arms tightening around Will as he glares at the two gods in front of their cottage - their _home._ "You're not getting Will."

"You named him?" the man asks, his voice far softer than his companion's. "We stripped his first name from him for a reason."

"Yeah," Eliot snaps, "because you're barbaric. Because you wanted to strip him of anything like an identity."

"If you knew what he'd done--" the woman begins, but Eliot cuts her off.

"I know exactly why he was locked away in that prison. Because of what you turned him into. But look at him now. He's an innocent child."

The woman's lip curls. "And he will remain one. We intend to kill him before he can grow back into the monster he once was."

Quentin bares his teeth, feels Will shift against his chest but doesn't dare look away to check on him. "You will _not_ touch our son," he growls. "He's already grown and changed so much more than you ever gave him a chance to."

"He had his chance, he and his sister," the man says, gaze flicking from Quentin to Eliot and back again. "He's not the kind of _creature_ you give a second chance to."

In perfect unison, the two take a step forward, and in the next instant Eliot has them at gunpoint. "I don't think that's your decision to make anymore," he says.

The woman's laugh is like nails on a chalkboard. "You idiot," she says. "What makes you think you can stop us?"

"Maybe they can't by themselves." Julia is suddenly beside Quentin, Margo's and Fen's hands in hers, and Eliot's knees go weak with relief. "But I'm willing to bet we stand a good chance together."

There's a shift in the air, and Penny, Kady, and Alice appear in the next moment - and sure enough, the Old Gods pause. "You cannot be serious," the man says slowly, looking at them thoughtfully. "You all know what he is - And you, Librarian. Surely the very first thing _you_ did was find his story."

"I did," Alice acknowledges, head held high. "And I saw it rewrite itself every day that Quentin and Eliot loved him."

"You're not touching any of them," Kady declares, arms crossed over her chest. "Or you'll have to kill us all to do it."

Finally, some emotion crosses the man's face. His lip curls into a sneer, and his gaze is colder than anything Quentin's felt before when it sweeps over their group. "You think a group of _mortals_ , a goddess too young to know what the word even means, and an infant are enough to stop us?"

"Actually," Margo drawls, "yeah, that's exactly what we think, you couple'a dicks."

"We're a family," Fen adds, her voice soft but fierce. "We'll do anything to protect that."

The woman gives them a terrible smile. "You'll die to protect that."

"It wouldn't be the first time we've done it," Alice says, stance shifting in preparation as the gods move forward once more - 

Only to come up short when a gust of wind blows across their path, preventing them from moving forward. 

They try again - and the same thing happens, strong enough this time to send them stumbling back, leaves and debris following the wind that comes from nowhere. The man's eyes immediately land on Will - and when Quentin glances down, he sees that Will's eyes are burning a sullen gold as he stares, brow scrunched, at the gods. Quentin looks back up, grins at the old gods with far too many teeth. "He doesn't like strangers," he says, shoulders straightening. "I think you should leave."

"You don't know what you're doing," the woman calls over the howling of the wind. "He'll kill all of you."

"I think we'll be fine!" Kady calls back, her own grin sharp. "We aren't the ones he's pushing away!"

The wind picks up, changes direction and swirls around the gods - and sparks begin to fly through it, catching some of the debris on fire that only grows stronger. In Quentin's arms, Will himself grows hotter in response, and Quentin steps back, closer to Eliot. "Leave!" Quentin shouts loud enough to be heard over the roaring of fire and wind. "We don't want anymore trouble - or to kill any more gods."

Eliot wraps his arm around Quentin's shoulders, holding his family close while he levels his most ferocious glare at the Old Gods. They glare right back, but when neither Eliot nor the rest of their friends so much as blink, they look to each other, instead.

In the end, it's all very anticlimactic. They just turn their backs on the group, and as the wind and the fire die down at last, they're gone. Fen cheers, Margo swears colourfully, and Eliot lets the hand holding the gun drop to his side. He's shaking.

Kady whoops in victory, and even Alice and Penny laugh with her as Quentin sags against Eliot, hugging Will closer to his chest as his eyes fade back to their normal hue, his temperature dropping as well. "Oh, thank fuck," Quentin sighs, his voice shaky. "I thought they weren't going to leave for a moment there."

Eliot drops the gun to the ground and wraps his other arm around Quentin and Will, pulling them in close until he can kiss Quentin's forehead. "We'd have killed them," he says. "Or at least seriously hurt them. They had no other choice."

"They're fucking _gods,_ " Quentin mutters, leaning into Eliot's touch, Will cooing between them. "Figured pride wouldn't have let them back down."

"They didn't back down," Penny says darkly. "They made a tactical retreat."

"They'll be watching," Alice adds. "Waiting for him to start slaughtering everyone."

"Well that's not going to happen," Eliot snaps.

"Not if we raise him right," Quentin agrees. 

"If anyone can do it, it's you two," Julia cuts in. "And you won't be raising him alone. We'll be around to help keep him in check."

"We're all behind you," Margo agrees. "Even if it is fucking weird."

Eliot shoots her a playful glare over the top of Quentin's head. "Bambi."

Margo looks unrepentant, and Quentin laughs, smiling down at Will when the sound makes him babble. "Well, that... certainly wasn't what any of us were expecting," he says, glancing around. 

"No shit," Penny snorts. 

Quentin ignores him in favor of continuing, "You guys want to stay for breakfast?"

"Fuck yes," Margo says. "I'm starving."

Eliot laughs. "I guess that means I'm cooking."

There's a chorus of agreement, and then everyone moves to the cottage, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. The cottage can barely hold everyone, but they make it work; even Will seems happy enough with the crowd - at the very least, he doesn't do more than squint suspiciously at anyone who holds him who isn't Quentin or Eliot as his two caregivers fix up a quick breakfast for their group. Quentin takes him back as everyone settles in to eat, but once the meal is finished, no one lingers. Everyone has lives to get back to now that they aren't fighting the Old Gods themselves, and Quentin doesn't begrudge them that. He actually wishes they'd clear out a bit quicker; he and Eliot have an unfinished conversation they need to revisit. 

Once Margo, Fen, and Julia finally leave, Quentin and Eliot set about straightening up the cottage; with magic, it doesn't take very long. Before he can lose his nerve, Quentin makes himself speak up. "So, we all survived."

"We sure did," Eliot agrees, not meeting Quentin's gaze as he folds a dish towel. "Told you I wouldn't let you die."

"Yeah, you did," Quentin agrees, bouncing Will slightly just to hear him laugh before he glances back at Eliot. "So. We need to talk about what it means for us now."

"Do we?" Eliot asks. He still hasn't looked up.

"I think we can't exactly put it off after last night," Quentin says mildly. "Or after I called Will our son and you didn't object after the fact."

Eliot does look at them then, but only briefly. "Well, we were facing down the bad-assiest gods in the world at the time," he says. "It would have somewhat weakened our conviction if I'd argued."

"Are you going to argue it now? It's just you and me here. And Will, but I don't think he understands actual words yet."

"Are you?" Eliot asks.

Quentin gives him a dry look. "I'm the one who said it in the first place."

"In the heat of the moment, or to lend weight to your argument against the aforementioned assholes," Eliot says.

Quentin snorts. "I said it because it's true, El," he says, sounding far too fond. 

"Look," Eliot says, like he hasn't heard Quentin at all, "last night was beyond amazing, really, and of course I think of Will as a son, as our son, but look at where we are, okay, look at where we've spent the last few months raising a kid _again_ ; I completely understand how wires could get crossed and things could start to feel like they used--" He cuts himself off, turns to look at Quentin with wide eyes. "It's true?"

Quentin's smile is soft as he looks at Eliot. "It's true," he confirms. "Trust me, I was worried it was just wires being crossed, too, but..." He shrugs one shoulder. "I know what I feel."

"Me too," Eliot says, his voice hushed. He takes a few steps towards them, but stops just shy of reaching out. "I've always known. Q, I'm-- I'm so sorry."

Quentin studies Eliot for a moment. "For what?" he asks quietly, taking a step towards Eliot and lessening the distance between them - though he doesn't reach out yet, either. 

"For what I said, when we remembered," Eliot explains. "I was so wrong. I was beyond terrified, and I wanted to push you away, and I said things that I knew would hurt you but I didn't mean any of them, I swear."

Quentin takes a deep breath. "So, when you said it wasn't either of us..."

"God, Q," Eliot says. He shoves a hand into his own hair and tugs, hard. "How could it not be? After fifty fucking years. Of course I'd choose you; I did choose you, over and over again. But I was scared that, faced with all the facts, you wouldn't choose me."

Quentin finally closes the distance between them, holds Will on his hip with one hand and reaches with his other to cover Eliot's hand, pull it from his hair and tangle their fingers together. "I was so close to choosing you anyway," he confesses, glancing down at their joined hands. "I thought... I thought you were, too. That the memories were the push we needed to finally _do_ something."

"But you know me, now," Eliot says. "You know how broken I am, how twisted. Christ, we had a fight right before we left the castle about how much of a selfish bastard I am."

"You know me, too," Quentin points out. "I hit below the belt. I shouldn't have even insinuated you'd fuck one of our grandchildren. But we figured out how to live together again anyway."

"A real miracle," Eliot says, but he's smiling. "We're both vicious when we're on the defense, I think we know this about each other by now."

Quentin's own smile grows, and he squeezes Eliot's hand in his. "I love you," he says simply. "I would've loved you even if we didn't get our memories of that other life back."

"Sap," Eliot says, his voice light. He gives Quentin a tender smile. "But me too."

"Well, I know you love yourself," Quentin teases, a note of vulnerability in his voice. "But what about me?"

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Q," he says. "Of course I love you."

Quentin grins. "Now that we've got that out in the open, will you get down here and kiss me?"

"Well, when you ask so nicely, who am I to say no?" Eliot's grinning as he cradles Quentin's face in one hand and bows to kiss him.

The kiss doesn't last long; a confirmation of what they already knew but feared to acknowledge, it's sweet and easy. When they pull apart, neither moves to put any distance between themselves, and Quentin sighs, leaning into Eliot. "You know, we didn't get a lot of sleep last night. And this little monster is already half-asleep."

Eliot chuckles. "Are you sure that's wise?" he asks. "He won't sleep tonight."

"Are you seriously trying to deny me cuddle time with my family?" Quentin asks, raising an eyebrow but unable to keep his lips from twitching. 

Eliot heaves a heavy, put-upon sigh, but he's grinning. "I suppose not."

Quentin smirks. "I thought not. Come on, into the bedroom with you."

Eliot wisely does as he's told.

* * *

"Oh my god!" Margo drawls, throwing her arms wide. "Fucking finally!"

"Cool your jets, Your Majesty," Eliot teases. He glides across the ballroom, takes both of her hands in his, and kisses her on the lips. "It takes time to look this good. That, and we had a baby who was loathe to be left behind."

Quentin gives Fen her own hug and kiss - on the cheek - before trading with Eliot. "He's getting an early start on the Terrible Twos," he adds with a laugh. "But with the ballroom doors open, we'll definitely hear if he wakes up."

Fen laughs, accepting a kiss from Eliot. "Well, it's been hotter than Hell here, even with the magic breeze people need more shade than the gardens can offer. Flit has had the fires going for _hours_ roasting meat for this party."

"And what a magnificent party it is," Eliot says. He wraps an arm around Quentin's shoulders and gives Margo a soft smile. "Happy Solstice, Bambi."

"Oh, enough of that sappy shit," Margo complains. "Happy Solstice, get me a fucking cocktail before I have a meltdown and the dignitaries from the Far-Flung Isles see it. It's taken weeks to plan this party and my best bitch is fucking _late_."

"Will is still weird about crowds, and there aren't exactly any babysitters qualified to keep him entertained who _aren't_ here at the party," Quentin points out, amused, as they start moving towards where the majority of the alcohol is located. "A tantrum would be _way_ more damaging to your reputation."

"Ugh, whatever," Margo huffs. "Just take off your parent hats for five minutes and enjoy the party. Did you guys see that Alice made it? Huh?"

"Oh, yay," Eliot says.

Quentin elbows Eliot lightly in the ribs. "You know she's been busy with the Library," he says, smiling, "and that I'm not going anywhere. Be nice."

Eliot snorts indelicately. "Please," he says. "I am not threatened by Alice Quinn."

"Be nice," Quentin repeats, catching sight of Alice and Julia, waving at them with a grin. "And I'll make it worth your while."

"Sold," Eliot says, and waves at them, too.

Margo rolls her eyes. "Gross," she says. "If you two weren't so disgustingly cute I'd have you removed from my castle for public indecency."

"Don't be jealous, Bambi," Eliot chides her.

Margo laughs. "Honey, I'm getting more dick right now than you've seen this decade. And I'm also leaving to schmooze some nobles. Ask your boy to dance, for fuck's sake."

Eliot watches her walk away with a fond smile, which he soon turns on Quentin. "Shall we?" he asks.

Quentin's smile matches Eliot's, and he nods, sliding his hand into Eliot's. "Let's. I've been looking forward to an adult night for a while now."

Eliot leads him to the dance floor, and they proceed to make good use of their 'adult night.' Quentin loves the life they've made for themselves and Will, but having a child really does take up all of their time. Knowing that Will is safe upstairs, however, with a charmed ring on Eliot's hand and a charmed pendant hanging from a cord about Quentin's neck to warn them if he wakes, allows them time to simply _relax_ in a way they never fully can in their cottage. Catching up with their friends occupies them once they're finally tired of dancing, but after the feast and the post-meal cocktails, Quentin tilts his head towards Eliot, murmuring, "I think I'm just about done for the night."

Eliot groans. "God help me," he says, "but me, too. What have I become?"

"A parent," Quentin laughs. "C'mon, let's go say goodnight to everyone."

It doesn't take long to do the rounds. Margo puts up a token protest when they reach her, but they promise to be at breakfast the next morning and she lets them go with a snarky comment about them being an old married couple, and then they're leaving the ballroom hand-in-hand. "Good night?" Eliot asks, giving Quentin a warm smile.

"Very good," Quentin hums, squeezing Eliot's hand in his. "It was good to see everyone again when we aren't fighting for our lives."

"Do you miss it?" Eliot asks. "Staying in the castle, being closer to everyone?"

"Occasionally," Quentin admits. "But I wouldn't trade our cottage for anything."

"Are you sure?" Eliot asks. "I know there are a lot of memories there."

"They're good memories, though," Quentin counters with a smile. "Even the bad ones. They're our lives."

Eliot smiles back. "As long as it's not too much," he says. "I don't miss this place as much as I thought I would, but it's good to be back. I want Will to grow up with all the aunts and uncles our Teddy missed out on."

Quentin hums an agreement, his own smile softening. "Will's going to grow up with more family than he knows what to do with," he chuckles. "I think that's my biggest regret, honestly. That Teddy never got to know the rest of his family."

"Me too," Eliot says. "He and Margo would have adored each other. But we did a good job with him on our own, didn't we? And now we get to spend time with his grandkids."

"We did do a good job," Quentin agrees, smiling softly. "I still... The fact that it was _real,_ really real, and that we have grandkids... It still boggles my mind, sometimes. That we have such a huge family."

"It's only going to get bigger," Eliot says, laughing. "We're patriarchs now, Q."

"And we aren't even thirty," Quentin snickers before pausing. "Should we count those fifty years?"

"Absolutely not," Eliot says without hesitation. "I'm in no hurry to be over eighty again."

"I don't know," Quentin teases. "Look at you: retiring early with your partner to spend some quality time with your son? All that's missing is the rings on our fingers, honestly."

Eliot stops dead in the hallway just outside of their room. "Did you just fucking propose to me?" he demands.

Quentin freezes, his eyes wide. "Um. No? I - I just commented on one of the differences. But, I mean, if you... _want_ it to be a proposal..." He bites his lip for a moment. "You deserve a better one, so. I actually kind of hope you don't want that to be your proposal."

"Good," Eliot says. "Because I don't. Honestly, Q, you're going to give me a heart attack, talking about rings on fingers."

Quentin relaxes enough to laugh, reaching past Eliot for the handle to their door, pushing it open. “Just wait until I _actually_ propose, then,” he says, grinning. “I’ll knock your fucking socks off.”

"That better be a promise, Coldwater," Eliot warns, tugging on Quentin's hand to stop him from entering the room just yet. "Because if you steal my thunder by proposing first and it's anything short of amazing, I'll say no."

Quentin laughs, leaning in for a kiss. "Well, you'll just have to wait and see, won't you? Maybe I already have something in mind."

"Maybe I do," Eliot counters, but he's grinning into the kiss. He lets it linger, go on for just a few more seconds than is probably appropriate for a hallway that just about anyone could be walking down, before he pulls back. "Come on, Q. Let's go hold our son."


End file.
